An Exile's Journey
by Neon Loneliness
Summary: An apprentice mage escapes Auridon with a burning hatred of the Thalmor. Little does she know, she will be swept into Tamriel's criminal underworld and embark on the journey of a lifetime...
1. Prologue

**Hey! So this is my first fanfic in quite a while, and I'm still pretty new, so bear with me here. That said, not all chapters will be this short - this one just serves as a prologue.**

 **(Also, my apologies if some lore seems a little dodgy. I've done a lot of research but it's still pretty difficult to kind of fill in the gaps for how the rest of Tamriel would be in Skyrim's timeframe.)**

* * *

By the fire, Ciraalie sat feeding a sheet of parchment to the flames and watching the edges blacken and curl. Slowly, she let it slip from the grasp of her slender fingers and drop down, fire eating at the words until they were destroyed, a mere memory. Memories were the easiest things to possess in these days, for they could not be so easily taken by the Thalmor – couldn't be so easily held against you. Intellectual property had to be gained through methods slightly more frowned upon, and even the Thalmor couldn't torture everybody in Alinor. No, Ciraalie was sure to keep the contents of this letter for herself.

She stared into the fire a moment longer, and then transferred her gaze to what lay beyond the window: the city of Firsthold, its spires still resplendent in their glory. Beauty in mortals was fleeting, for it was a trait that usually went hand in hand with youth; architecture, however, seemed to grow in grandeur with its age. Though she had visited it only once in her life, the Dwemer-built city of Markarth could testify to that.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor outside stirred her, and she called out, "Caranwen?"

"Yes?" Her young apprentice entered the room, firelight playing over her sharp-featured Altmer face. Amber eyed and with dark red hair, she was aflame with these hues.

Ciraalie glanced around as if spies could leap from the walls, and gestured for her apprentice to close the door. "I received a letter from a friend of mine in Skywatch… the Thalmor Inquisition appear to be growing restless with the control they have."

"Another purge?" Ciraalie could see the younger woman's fists clenching at her sides – her anger was a spark she needed to learn to keep subdued, lest it rage out of control. "Have they not slaughtered enough of our kind?"

"Hush, lower your voice. It's their own warped version of a census, I suppose… a way to flex their control over the nation. My point being, I fear our act is up, Caranwen. It is time for you to leave my tutelage and escape Auridon while you still have your life."

"And what about…?"

Ciraalie sighed. "I am afraid my place is here. I have been secretive before and I can remain so in the face of the Inquisition… besides, I have lived much longer than you and am well-respected in Firsthold. The Thalmor are not likely to discover my full identity."

Silence hung between them, the product of a tension so thick you could slice it with a blade. She could see clear as day that Caranwen didn't wish to leave her, but her apprentice was young still. There was much for her to learn – lessons only the world could teach her. Though she had gained much knowledge from books in her years under Ciraalie's teaching, the girl was inexperienced yet in the art of battle.

As Caranwen shuffled, reluctantly, to pack supplies in the corner, Ciraalie couldn't help but feel a little protective as she watched over her apprentice. This was the ultimate trust to place in anyone, and Ciraalie prayed that Caranwen's talent as a mage was enough to carry her through this escape alive.

"I am ready," her pupil declared, clearly fighting to keep her voice from wavering.

"Travel southeast to Skywatch, where you will be able to escape to mainland Tamriel from the docks. Where you go then will be up to you."

"I'm leaving the Dominion," Caranwen replied fiercely.

Ciraalie nodded. "Wise. You know, if you find yourself in Skyrim, give Savos Aren of the College of Winterhold my regards. That is, if he still resides there."

Indeed, Ciraalie regretted that she couldn't travel there herself… it had been too long since she'd last seen him. Though the elves lived long, prolonged life was no excuse for losing contact with friends. If only the Thalmor were not so ruthless in their way of going about things, leaving the country would be a simple affair.

As it happened, nothing was ever simple.

She paused for a few seconds, sighing – and embraced her student in a rare display of physical affection.

"Good luck, and may the Divines bless your path."


	2. Chapter 1

Caranwen, breathing hard, flattened herself against the trunk of a blossoming tree as two Thalmor Justiciars strode past, deep in conversation. Her progress over the past hour or so had been much like this, involving following the road to Skywatch but allowing the trees and foliage to provide cover. It was difficult. Auridon, though its landscape was lush and unspoilt, was not at all densely forested and she was not proficient at sneaking – to say the least. Though stealth was an art she had yet to master, her journey so far had proved an induction. Slowly, she was getting used to sinking down into a crouched position, using the landscape as cover and inching her way along whilst keeping parallel to the road. Paranoia exercised its grip on her whenever agents of the Thalmor walked past.

Only when the Thalmor left, did she relax. Shifting into a standing position, Caranwen shook out her aching muscles and glanced to the sky. The sun was fast approaching the horizon, and evening drew near. Everything became more sinister under the veil of night – this was another reason Caranwen was eager to reach Skywatch before nightfall, before her mind began playing tricks on her… even now, she was sure she could hear the howling of a wolf.

The howling sounded again, much louder and closer. Panic seized her, paralysing her muscles.

The creature came darting from nowhere, a ragged blast of grey fur hurtling towards her. She barely had the sense to move her legs before it was upon her, and threw herself out of its path before the thing could topple her over. Drawing on her magicka reserves, Caranwen called a swirling ball of red light into her outstretched palm and flung it towards the wolf.

Much to Caranwen's relief, the Fear spell took hold of the wolf's mind and it bolted for the trees. Not wanting to take any chances, she sprinted in the opposite direction until she was sure the creature wouldn't return.

Shaken, the young Altmer woman stood and took deep breaths until her heart rate returned to normal. When she raised her head she noticed that the road was diverting eastward and on the horizon, distant as an apparition, stood the proud spires of Skywatch.

The recent brush with combat and the reassurance at the sight of her destination sparked Caranwen's adrenaline levels and she travelled with a renewed determination. With the city fast approaching, she ran her hands briefly through her hair and composed herself. Looking a little dishevelled would only spark the Thalmor's suspicion, and she would need to blend in unnoticed before she reached the docks.

Her worries seemed to be paranoia talking, however. The Inquisition had since left Skywatch and the ordinary Dominion guards who patrolled the city did not possess half the cruelty of those higher ranking officials. They were simply there to keep the order, and gave her no more attention than the occasional nod as she walked through town.

Out on the docks, her choice of boats was slim. Most sailors with any kind of sanity had left port earlier in the day, or had dropped anchor for the night and were drinking at a local tavern. Only one boat, a sizeable merchant ship, was still being loaded with goods.

Without even stopping to ponder on whether or not their crew would react with hostility, Caranwen approached an Imperial man in plain clothes with crate in his arms.

"Excuse me, sir?"

The man frowned, evidently displeased at being stopped while he carried a heavy load. "What do you want, elf?"

Caranwen realised she hadn't even considered the fact that most people would regard her as one of the Thalmor, and that proving otherwise would be difficult. "I… I request passage on your ship."

"Well, it isn't my ship," his frown had deepened into a glare, "so you'll have to ask Ra'jara over there. No doubt he'll let you – his lenience is his downfall."

Caranwen approached the figure he'd motioned to, a grey-furred Khajiit with gold hoops lining one ear. He stood, arms folded, his body outlined against the evening twilight.

"Are you this ship's captain?" Caranwen asked, a little intimidated despite the height her Altmer genes leant her.

He smiled, revealing pointed canines. "Indeed, Ra'jara is the captain. And you would request passage on the ship?"

"Yes."

"This one welcomes you to the Bloodmoon."

Caranwen stood, a little frozen. It was this easy? "Is… is that all?"

"There is no test. Khajiit has muscles, unlike you. If you turn out to be a Thalmor spy, you will be crushed by the crew like torchbug under heavy boot." With that, Ra'jara laughed long and loud.

"I feel welcome already," she muttered.

Ra'jara's ice-blue eyes twinkled, "This one detects sarcasm. Bold, coming from small torchbug like yourself." He laughed again, clearly amused at his comparison of her to an insect.

"Don't mind him."

Caranwen was startled, whipping around to find the source of the words. It was a low woman's voice, with smooth tones that melted away into the background with ease. The speaker, when she turned to face her, was a woman short even for a Bosmer, yet her frame was taut with muscle. Though her face was fair, it was marred by a deep scar that ran the length of it.

She gave a grin, "Didn't see me? I should hope not, or I'd need to train harder. Now, come on – the rest of the crew should be dining by now."

Caranwen followed her below the deck. "My name's Caranwen," she offered by way of introduction.

"And mine's Elith. You know, you're lucky you found us when you did – not many merchant ships cross these seas anymore, not when the Dominion's so isolated."

"Why do you do it, then?" Caranwen asked.

Ahead of her, the Bosmer woman opened the doors. "Quite the curious one, aren't you? You'll find out sooner or later."

Below deck on the _Bloodmoon_ , the smell of food hung in the air. Clearly, these people ate well; however they made their money, there was plenty to fuel their appetites. At the crews' invitation, she took a seat at the table and ladled soup into her bowl, partnering it with fresh bread.

The crew themselves were a group of misfits – they were racially diverse, though nobody showed any prejudice. That in itself was odd for Caranwen, who had grown up under the rule of the supremacist Thalmor. With that and the isolated nature of Alinor these days, it was little wonder she'd never seen an Argonian before she now sat across from one. Realising she was probably staring, Caranwen flashed them a brief smile and averted her eyes to her food.

"Try the seared slaughterfish," a young Breton man beside her urged, "it's excellent – but save room for the sweetrolls."

Elith, who had drawn a seat up beside her, laughed. "Meet Bastien – our resident sweetroll thief. Divines even know why we tolerate him."

"Elith, you condemn me so! I may have been a mere sweetroll thief back in High Rock, but now I am a seasoned larcenist!"

Caranwen laughed a little, beginning to relax in the company of the _Bloodmoon_ 's crew. "You could have stayed in High Rock, and become a court jester."

Elith smirked. "You know, I think you'll fit in here."

She could only hope the Bosmer woman was right.


	3. Chapter 2

**Thank you Synfal and Warden of Lore for the reviews! :)**

* * *

After breakfast the following morning, Caranwen was below deck cleaning plates with Freja, the Nord cook of around fifty years old. It was a way for her to earn her keep on the journey across the Abecean Sea. In fact, she found she was fitting in rather well even if Ulixes, the Imperial man she first met, still distrusted her. She didn't blame him; after the way Cyrodiil had suffered under the Altmer, he had every reason to feel suspicious of her kind.

"You elf types do age well," Freja was saying, "If I was an elf, I'd still look young and beautiful – you know, I was a priestess of Dibella in my prime."

Caranwen opened her mouth to reply, and closed it again. She thought the most tactical route would be to change the subject.

"What of the other crew members? What are their stories?"

"Ah," Freja paused with a wet plate in her hands, "Now, _there's_ something I could talk about for a while. Deel-Jei, for a start… she doesn't talk much of her past, but what I can tell you is she's a trained assassin. Being born under the Shadow is a special thing for Argonians, although her kind is near-gone. She's also an alchemist. Then there's my son, Fjolfir, and his girlfriend Yazgar – they're never far from each other. She's from a stronghold in the Reach – Dushnikh-Yal I think it's called."

Caranwen set down a tankard she had just washed and dried her hands on her clothes, sensing the conversation would create a pause in the work. "And Ra'jara?"

"We all respect him. Khajiit don't often like to travel on boats, but he's not like that. He's actually from Bravil – and we all suspect he can talk without so much third person – but he uses it anyway." She laughed. "And then on the other end of the scale, you have Bastien… we love him really, but he's so fun to tease. Still, I think he's smarter than we give him credit for, even if he couldn't lift a sword."

After a pause, Freja said, "I've told you their stories. What about yours?"

"I'm an apprentice wizard from Firsthold. I suppose my tutor and I always hated the Thalmor in secret, as did many others who were too scared to voice their opinions. Honestly, I'm glad I left." Although she missed Ciraalie, Caranwen knew this was true. "It was only a matter of time. The Thalmor, I despise them: they're an insult to the ancestors and the Old Ways."

"You think you High Elves are too pure for the Thalmor?" Freja arched her eyebrows. "Isn't that a similar mindset to your enemy?"

~V~

The sea was calm that day, and the _Bloodmoon_ bobbed gently on the tranquil waves. Caranwen, of course, knew of the calm before the storm, but now that her duties were done she wished to enjoy the rest of the morning. She and Bastien were perched atop barrels above deck.

"So, have you ever been to Anvil?" The harbour city in western Cyrodiil was their destination.

Caranwen shook her head. "No – I've never left Alinor."

"Really?"

She nodded. "I've always wanted to see the rest of Tamriel, though. What's Cyrodiil like?"

"It's huge – there's a lot of it I still haven't seen, especially the places more inland. Though, you shouldn't get your hopes up too high about Anvil. It only fell to the Dominion about thirty years ago and the place is still rebuilding after the White-Gold Concordat."

Before either of them could speak again, Elith arrived from the bottom deck, drenched in sweat and out of breath. Caranwen raised her eyebrows; Bastien mouthed ' _Training'_. The Bosmer woman cast the two of them a cursory glance before heading off towards Ra'jara.

"She spends a long time training," Caranwen remarked.

"Have you seen her burns? They're on her weapon arm – she trains twice as long and hard so she can overcome her weakness."

Caranwen had to admire the Elith's dedication. "I'm glad I'm not on the other end of her weapon."

"As am I," Bastien said, laughing. "If anyone ever crosses Ra'jara, she'll skewer them – she's kind of his unofficial bodyguard. They're so close, I'd almost think they were in love if Elith didn't insist she'd never fallen in love with anyone."

She sensed this wasn't ever a subject she should breach with Elith.

"Do you get attacked often?" Caranwen asked, changing the topic, "Pirates? I've heard they go for merchant ships."

Bastien grinned. "I suppose we do…" he said evasively. "But the _Bloodmoon_ isn't simply a merchant ship – hasn't anyone told you what we do, yet?"

"… No?"

"Follow me." He winked and hopped off the barrel, leading her down below to where most of the cargo was stored.

The Argonian woman, Deel-Jei, was sat against a stack of crates, sharpening a dagger. She glanced up as the two of them entered, and slid the dagger back into place at her belt.

"Showing Caranwen the ropes?"

Bastien nodded, and lifted a crate from the stack behind Deel-Jei with a grunt of effort. Deel-Jei watched him with arms folded and eyes glinting out from her red scales, but didn't say a word. If anything, she seemed to be holding in a smirk at his obvious lack of strength. This was one member of the crew, Caranwen noted, who probably would not crush her like a torchbug.

When he eventually did set it down on the wooden floor of the ship, Bastien slid back the lid of the crate and opened the sack within. He scooped out a handful of the contents: slightly translucent red-tinged shards that caught the dim light as they fell back through his palms.

"Our secret, dear Caranwen, is moon sugar. You'll find that many a high-ranking official is willing to bend the rules to get their hands on some of this. It's why we travel to Alinor when so many avoid the isles of the Altmer."

She paused, processing all of this. Of all the merchant ships she could have used to gain passage across the Abecean Sea, she had to end up among outlaws. And what did this make her? No worse than a criminal? It had definitely not been her attention to get sucked into Tamriel's criminal underworld.

In the end she simply said, "This isn't particularly legal, is it?"

Bastien laughed. "Of course not – you already knew I was a thief, didn't you? Besides, it isn't as if we're a bunch of petty criminals. We have contacts in major organisations all across Tamriel; occasionally, we serve as a place to fence stolen goods. Of _course_ we're illegal, but we're the best."

Caranwen wasn't sure how to respond. She didn't want to dampen his enthusiasm, not after he'd delivered such an impassioned speech. It seemed the crew of the _Bloodmoon_ took immense pride in their ship, in a way oddly similar to patriotism – the ship was a community in itself, and Caranwen felt suddenly aware of her outsider status here. But if she didn't belong, surely she could adapt? These people proved quite clearly that thieves weren't inherently bad.

"So," Deel-Jei spoke up; Caranwen had forgotten she was watching their conversation still. "Do you plan on joining us, or are you just hoping to get free passage to Cyrodiil?"

Admittedly, Caranwen had expected only to gain passage across the sea – but now, she was having doubts. This life seemed fun, but she had never stolen before in all the years she'd lived.

"She could go on an initiation mission," Bastien said.

Deel-Jei nodded. "If Ra'jara agreed. I need to deliver something to a client in Markarth, but she said to send someone instead of myself."

~V~

Caranwen crouched, inching forward. She had learnt, by now, which loose floorboards to avoid, and how to transfer her body weight as she crept as silently as possible. Under the watchful eye of Deel-Jei, she had spent much of her time training to sneak better. It was hard progress, but she felt as if she was getting somewhere faster than if she had been left to her own devices.

"You're getting better," the Argonian woman observed. "Still, practice is the best teacher. And dedicated sneaking instructors – I've only ever had to teach alchemy before."

At this, Caranwen stood up and arched her back, which ached from staying in a crouched position for so long. Deel-Jei simply nodded; she was a woman didn't waste breath on unnecessary words.

At that moment, Bastien burst in on them. "It's been decided! Caranwen, you're making Deel-Jei's delivery – and I've been asked to accompany you there."

"You? I know of an undertaker in Kvatch – he'd be more than happy."

"Hey!" Bastien said defensively. "I won't get us killed!"

A smile played on Deel-Jei's lips. "We'll see."

Caranwen wondered what she was even being asked to do – deliver moon sugar? Nobody had given her any indication of what she was delivering or who this 'client' in Markarth was. Sensing the confusion on her face, Deel-Jei wordlessly handed her a folded scrap of paper. Caranwen opened it and smoothed it out, scanning the contents.

 _Deel-Jei,_

 _The potions, as discussed, to be left at the shrine of Talos. Send someone in your stead; it would be wise if you did not show your face in Markarth for a while._

Caranwen frowned. "It isn't signed?"

"They never told me their name," Deel-Jei replied. "But they're paying good money – that's all you need to know."

Caranwen handed her the paper back and didn't question further – she knew she'd be getting no more out of her. She wasn't going to complain. After all, this seemed a pretty easy initiation and if she was visiting Skyrim, she could drop by the College of Winterhold like Ciraalie had told her to.

"I'll do it, then," Caranwen said.


	4. Chapter 3

**Updates will be slower from now on, due to the school term starting and lack of time. I'll try to keep them regular(ish) though!**

* * *

Thunder growled overhead, and rain lashed the deck of the _Bloodmoon_. The sea itself was dark and turbulent, a reflection of the slate-grey storm clouds that swirled above them. Occasionally, the ship crested a particularly large wave and pitched worryingly, but Caranwen found that if she stood at the side and clung on, it stopped her from sliding. Slick with rainwater, the wood of the deck was treacherous to walk on.

Beside her, Elith cursed loudly. "Dammit… I hoped we'd reach Anvil before anything like this."

They were close, now. On a finer day, the city would have been clearly visible – but in this weather, all that lay ahead were the rough seas.

"I keep thinking I can sight a ship, but it's impossible to tell. You should go back below deck." Elith frowned, and realisation suddenly dawned in her eyes. "Shit! It's a Maormer ship!"

Before she even knew what was happening, Caranwen was forced down by Elith, crouched out of sight. "Pirates, right?" She whispered. The sea elves were an enemy of the Altmer.

"We might be able to sail past undetected, but I doubt that. You should warn the others."

She nodded, and turned to head inside when something struck her. "Wait! I've got an idea!"

Elith looked at her suspiciously. "There's no time for this."

Caranwen was already climbing the stairs to the upper levels of the deck. "Please trust me," she called down.

"If this gets any of us killed, I'll never forgive you!" If Elith said anything else after this, it was snatched away by the wind – but those words were all the confirmation Caranwen needed. It was a risk, but if she played her cards right she could score the _Bloodmoon_ a victory. If she failed… they would tear her apart. For all his lovable nature, Ra'jara certainly had a sadistic streak and he wouldn't hesitate to carry out his threat and 'crush her like a torchbug'.

As she reached the top of the stairs, the ship tilted violently. She was thrown sideways, sliding over the wet ground with no way to stop until she slammed into the wheel. Winded, Caranwen felt the breath leave her on impact. She grabbed the wheel and climbed into a standing position with some effort. Her side was definitely bruised, and she was lucky the collision hadn't cracked a rib.

Being as careful as she could with her footing, she inched her way over along the slippery surface until she reached the edge. Clinging to it, she readied her spell. Across a short stretch of ocean, the Maormer pirate ship was in view. She could make out the outline of an archer, his ghostly white skin standing out in the darkness. With as much accuracy as she could manage given the circumstances, Caranwen threw her fury spell.

It missed, and the archer glanced about in suspicion. Caranwen ducked, cursing softly at her misfortune. The ships were drawing closer; soon, Elith would be leading the rest of the crew back out and this would end in bloody battle.

Caranwen flung another fury spell across the gap, and this time it connected. Relieved, she watched as the Maormer man's mind was gripped by her Illusion magic and he turned in sudden anger, firing arrows at his comrades.

Speed was of the essence, now. She dashed back down, sliding as she went, but not wishing to sacrifice time by treading slowly and carefully. When Caranwen arrived on the main deck, the crew were emerging and she was close enough to hear the pirates shouting at one another.

She heard a furious "What are you doing?!" as the Maormer inflicted by her spell began to attack his fellow pirates.

Readying another spell, she tossed it over a now easy distance and a second sea elf joined the attack, the crew descending into an all-out fray. She was too late, however, to drag all of them into it. A couple darted away when they got the chance.

With horror, Caranwen realised the gap between ships was now narrow enough to jump across. The two pirates did just this, leaping over and landing on the _Bloodmoon_. Too late to retreat, Caranwen felt her upper arm slashed at by a dagger. She tried to right her footing and retaliate, but the Maormer shoved her to the ground and she went tumbling, blood spilling from her fresh wound.

As she stumbled unsteadily to her feet, she saw Fjolfir swing his battle-axe at the pirate, knocking him a few paces back. Ever at his side, Yazgar parried an incoming blow with ease and drove her warhammer home with the force of both strong arm muscles, leaving him to bleed out on the floor.

Caranwen moved away from the conflict to observe; close-up fighting was not her forte. Over on the other ship, the Maormer had thinned significantly, leaving only a few of the strongest standing. By now, the spell had worn off and they were turning their attention to her friends.

All of a sudden, an arm hooked around the throat of one of them and they were dragged backwards by the shadowy, virtually unseen figure of Deel-Jei. She slit his throat with her knife – undoubtedly poisoned, given her alchemy skills – and shrank back into the shadows.

Soon enough, the remaining Maormer had been dispatched, and the ship was clear to be entered. Ahead of her, Ra'jara thrust Bastien over onto the enemy ship, yelling out "Take all their treasures!" with a good measure of glee in his tone. Caranwen noticed, as she approached, that his claws were bloodied.

Her stomach began to turn as she too jumped over, picking her way through the dead. The stench of spilt blood hung in the air, and it was beginning to truly sink in that she was responsible for murder. In all her years training as a mage, Caranwen had never killed anyone.

The scariest part was that she didn't feel remorse. These were the enemy… and yet their blood had spilled indirectly at her hands.

"Ever killed before?"

She saw Deel-Jei watching her; the Argonian had a curious look on her face.

"Yes, but… never people."

Deel-Jei nodded slowly. "I thought as much. You can tell by their faces. Don't worry if you don't feel shame – it just means you're a fighter. There's plenty of farms in this world for people who are too soft to kill."

"You've got a healthy attitude to murder," Caranwen muttered, turning to help the others with unloading any treasures the pirates had stolen. It was odd, stealing from the thieves.

She was passing over a lockbox of jewels to Freja when the older woman frowned with concern. "You look pale. Come inside, get some strong mead in you. The stuff from Whiterun's the best, you know."

Caranwen obliged; come to think of it, she had been feeling a little light-headed. Soaked to the bone as she was, she had barely noticed the rain had stopped, and the prospect of heading into the warmth was a welcome one.

~V~

With the pirate ship left to sink, the crew were well on their way to Anvil and sat around their dining table, celebrating their recent victory. Caranwen was drinking from a flagon of Honningbrew mead, and had to admit Freja had been right. She had never truly tasted the drink of the Nords before, but found this stuff was a good introduction.

"You did well, there," Elith praised, "I honestly doubted your capabilities but you have definitely proven your worth.

"Was that Illusion magic?" Bastien asked.

Caranwen nodded. "It was – are you a mage?"

"No… people assume I am, because I'm a Breton. I doubt my family would have approved, though." He stared at the wood grain in the table, avoiding meeting anyone's eyes. For a moment, Caranwen thought he would elaborate, but when he remained silent she decided to drop the subject.

"How long until we reach Anvil?"

"Not long," Elith replied. "The storm clouds had us fooled – it isn't the dead of night, and we should reach there in time to rent rooms at the inn."

"Ah! Elf!" The voice was unmistakeably Ra'jara's. "Ra'jara was looking for you. Deel-Jei has agreed she can send a courier to Markarth. After today, we have decided you can join the Bloodmoon straight away."

Caranwen supposed it was logical, but she couldn't help but feel some disappointment at the fact that she wouldn't be able to explore more of mainland Tamriel yet. These people who sat around the table were her friends now. Still, she didn't feel as if her future lay in the skooma trade.

But what would she do on her own? She'd have to find some way of making coin for herself, and ultimately she wished she could get revenge on the Thalmor somehow, however small a victory it would be. Given her present state, it was a lofty ambition – but so far, she'd been able to handle a fight. With help, she could survive on Tamriel.

"So what do you say?" asked Elith, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"I… I'm really not sure it's for me." She confessed, though she was sure she would miss the crew of the _Bloodmoon_. Besides, they were – mostly – adept fighters, and strong allies to have at her side. Rejecting the offer was a gamble, but one she was willing to take.


End file.
